


Spin Cycle

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-22
Updated: 2007-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I keep telling myself that I shouldn't post fic while drinking, but self doesn't want to listen tonight.  Tomorrow I'll see if this is utter shit before posting to any comms, but I just wanted to write something porny and possibly utterly ridiculous.  The only real prompt is my own attempt to get as many of <a href="http://giddy-london.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://giddy-london.livejournal.com/"><b>giddy_london</b></a>'s kinks in one fic as possible, because she puts up with me virtually while I'm off my arse.  Whoo.  (Also, in case you're wondering, yes I AM aware that this title sucks.  I'm channeling my inner <a href="http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/"><b>violettefemme</b></a> and <a href="http://often-adamanta.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://often-adamanta.livejournal.com/"><b>often_adamanta</b></a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spin Cycle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [giddy_london](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=giddy_london).



"Fuck me."

Sean's voice was muffled a bit by Andy's lips, but his eyes kept darting downward uncontrollably, because who can really help looking when Elijah Wood has a prick in his mouth? Not Sean, certainly. No, not Sean.

"Not quite that far gone, mate," Andy mumbled, and his hand curled tighter in Elijah's hair, and the other in _Sean's_ hair, and his tongue was fucking Sean's tonsils but there wasn't anything for it, really, because there was just something about Sean.

Sean.

He was, of course, the man to blame in all this, cigarette lit against the backdrop of night and beer and sweat and sex, a little glowing ember that Andy had honed in on and "hey, mate, spare a light?" and then it was Elijah, same question, different inflection.

Spare a fuck?

Now they're back in Sean's apartment, in his laundry room, actually, because only in an utter state of drunkenness does it really seem _that_ urgent to get a load done. And Elijah's on his knees on the hard tile floor, and Andy's leaning back against the gently vibrating dryer while Sean lights another cigarette—his hands are the only pair free, after all.

They pull apart, and Andy sees something in Sean's eyes he's not sure he's ready for, but he's a little drunk and he's got Elijah's lips wrapped around his cock, and what the fuck does he care?

He sucks smoke from Sean's lungs.

They thrust forward, almost in unison, Andy down Elijah's throat and Sean into Andy's clothed hip.

They pretend not to notice.

Smoke is exchanged.

"Fuck," Sean growls, a little hoarse, and now Andy is devouring, biting, pulling at Sean's lip in sections until he thinks blisters might form.

"More," Andy gasps, and it's the only honest admission he'll make tonight. Elijah thinks, mistakenly, that the entreaty is directed at him, and he sucks harder, takes Andy into the back of his throat. He's anxious to show off his skills, show the boys that he learned from the best—Orlando, he thinks, _must_ be the best—but the two of them are much too focused on each other, and Andy looks like he wants to inhale Sean, little by little, until there's nothing left.

"I'll give you bloody more," Sean barks out in reply, the words half-swallowed, and then he's sucking hard on Andy's tongue, his cigarette burning down between his fingers while the other hand strokes his cock—slowly, methodically.

Andy risks a glance downwards again, and this time it's not at Elijah's lips. This time, it's at Sean's lap.

"Fuck me."

Andy doesn't notice that he's repeating Sean's words of twenty seconds earlier; he's too caught up in the casual rhythm of stroke-and-pull, the hard slow tug that's imprinting itself on his brain even as he caresses the back of Elijah's neck with his hand, a stroke that will haunt his thoughts for weeks. He's storing up every nuance of Sean's wanking pattern so that he can remember it, later.

When he's sober.

"_More_," Sean growls, too loud, and Elijah has become extraneous; the two of them are kissing so hard it hurts and blood is welling up from the pinpoint pricks of their canines; Andy's hand is hard on Sean's thigh, the other on the back of Sean's neck; he's not even touching Elijah anymore apart from the basic lips-to-cock connection. Sean is coming, Sean is coming, Sean is…

"_Fuck!_"

Andy is coming, too.


End file.
